The Damnation of Theron Ware eBook

When they had passed together out of the room, she
turned. “Soulsby,” she said with
half-playful asperity, “I’m disappointed
in you. For a man who’s knocked about as
much as you have, I must say you’ve picked up
an astonishingly small outfit of gumption. That
poor creature in there is no more drunk than I am.
He’s been drinking—­yes, drinking like
a fish; but it wasn’t able to make him drunk.
He’s past being drunk; he’s grief-crazy.
It’s a case of ‘woman.’ Some
girl has made a fool of him, and decoyed him up in
a balloon, and let him drop. He’s been hurt
bad, too.”

“We have all been hurt in our day and generation,”
responded Brother Soulsby, genially. “Don’t
you worry; he’ll sleep that off too. It
takes longer than drink, and it doesn’t begin
to be so pleasant, but it can be slept off. Take
my word for it, he’ll be a different man by noon.”

When noon came, however, Brother Soulsby was on his
way to summon one of the village doctors. Toward
nightfall, he went out again to telegraph for Alice.

CHAPTER XXXII

Spring fell early upon the pleasant southern slopes
of the Susquehanna country. The snow went off
as by magic. The trees budded and leaved before
their time. The birds came and set up their chorus
in the elms, while winter seemed still a thing of
yesterday.

Alice, clad gravely in black, stood again upon a kitchen-stoop,
and looked across an intervening space of back-yards
and fences to where the tall boughs, fresh in their
new verdure, were silhouetted against the pure blue
sky. The prospect recalled to her irresistibly
another sunlit morning, a year ago, when she had stood
in the doorway of her own kitchen, and surveyed a
scene not unlike this; it might have been with the
same carolling robins, the same trees, the same azure
segment of the tranquil, speckless dome. Then
she was looking out upon surroundings novel and strange
to her, among which she must make herself at home as
best she could. But at least the ground was secure
under her feet; at least she had a home, and a word
from her lips could summon her husband out, to stand
beside her with his arm about her, and share her buoyant,
hopeful joy in the promises of spring.

To think that that was only one little year ago—­the
mere revolution of four brief seasons! And now—!

Sister Soulsby, wiping her hands on her apron, came
briskly out upon the stoop. Some cheerful commonplace
was on her tongue, but a glance at Alice’s wistful
face kept it back. She passed an arm around her
waist instead, and stood in silence, looking at the
elms.

“It brings back memories to me—­all
this,” said Alice, nodding her head, and not
seeking to dissemble the tears which sprang to her
eyes.

“The men will be down in a minute, dear,”
the other reminded her. “They’d nearly
finished packing before I put the biscuits in the oven.
We mustn’t wear long faces before folks, you
know.”